For Once
by Pyromaanii
Summary: "Really, nothing is bothering them right now, except for the time they wish would stop so they can stare at each other for a few hours more. And he will let her catch him doing it. For once. " ...Fluff galore.


_She's close, _He thinks to himself, quickening up his pace to help her.

For once.

He finds it quite humorous that she's panting, because it's not like she needs to breathe anymore. Though he knows that such a habit is hard to break. He remembers himself that it took him almost two hundred years to discard it.

Whatever the case, he finds himself letting out a loud moan as she tightens around him, her nails clawing up his pale shoulders, a dark crimson contrasting on near white. Her back arches, her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to get him deeper, _deeper- _

_Right there- _

She cries out.

It's only, probably, two-thirty in the morning, and he is surprised when he senses that no one else in the manor is awake, especially with the noises she's been making.

At the thought, she brings herself out of her hazy bliss to glare at him.

He is taken aback- still trying to get used to her progress (which she had been making much of), and he remembers that now, she too, can read thoughts. She could also phase through walls and mask her presence, so as to, scare the fuck out of him.

When he has pulled himself out and let her calm down, the curvy, yet dainty, body scoots closer, closing in the only available four inches between them, and he does not mind.

For once.

A muscled arm is wrapped around a small shoulder, long phalanges possessively, but gently, curling around her arm. She is beside herself in delight at this, her head resting against his chest, and he quirks a brow.

"You never cuddle." She states matter-of-factly.

It's only their eight or ninth time, neither can remember, but he has taken a pledge that since their first he shall treat her like the queen she deserves to be. A No-Life Queen for a No-Life King.

She never complains, no matter how much now she is babied by him.

He can remember their first. Well, his umpteenth and her first. She was shy, _oh Lord (Lord?) was she shy,_ and he remembered it took him near to an hour to get her to completely undress herself. But he held his patience, he did not want to scare her.

For once.

He remembered how hesitant she was- nervous that she wasn't doing a thing right; positive she was not doing a single thing right, but he assured her that she was.

He could remember how amazing she felt, how tight- after all, she was a virgin. He could remember how soft her skin was, and how perfectly she fit into his hands, like she was specially crafted just for his hands, just for him.

He can remember how ecstatic she was when he told her over and over how amazing she was, how superb, that he would never mind a future together with her.

There is a thick silence in the coffin really only made for one, but the closeness is not what bothers them. Really, nothing is bothering them right now, except for the time they wish would stop so they can stare at each other for a few hours more.

And he will let her catch him doing it.

For once.

She let's out a sigh. Quiet and sweet, like that of a child's. Pale lids shield her eyes and she says aloud,

"I'm not falling asleep, just resting my eyes."

And at that he rolls his.

He focuses his eyes. Counts how many lashes are resting against her cheeks. His eyes travel down to the hands resting against his torso, his skin and blood stuck underneath no longer clean nails. He wants to tease her because her feet look so small, but her height is something to brag about. He wonders if she ever had her hair long as a child, and thinks that she would look quite lovely with long hair, but that does not mean he is imploring her to change, because he thinks that she is perfect already.

Her eyes are open again, a quiet smile resting on her pale lips.

He looks away, feeling ashamed, and she leans up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, but he turns his head back in enough time to catch her lips with his own instead.

What she meant to be an innocent gesture of affection he turns into something more passionate, his mouth moving firmly but gently against hers, and she finds herself practically melting- despite the fact that neither of them have possessed body heat for quite some time.

He pulls away. The act is over.

Grips are undone, legs are no longer entwined, and hair is let go of.

They settle back against each other.

"Master?"

In the back of his head he wishes she would no longer call him that, but he doesn't exactly want her calling him 'Alucard' either.

For once.

He only replies with a, "Hmm?"

"How old are you?"

_Sweet dear, _he thinks in his head, _older than dirt. _

"So, older than you would like to admit?" She smirks playfully.

"Precisely, darling," He replies, nearly exhausted already.

She allows herself to giggle, letting her head fall forward once more to rest on his chest.

He wonders if she cares how old she is. If she is still stuck in her human ways, where age difference can be frowned upon if it is too great. And he knows that their difference is very great.

He is almost 560, after all- he hopes she did not hear such a thing.

He assumes though that now she will hit the books later, or perhaps ask their master, to find an answer, because she is not stupid and she knows that he knew the number she sought after. But, he decides not to worry about it, because if she is not stupid then she should know he is near to ancient.

He relaxes.

It is silent again. He can hear her blinking, and that is it.

He would go back to counting eyelashes, but cannot keep up with the movement of her lids.

She is amused.

"Brat," He begins, sliding a hand down her torso, to pinch her bottom. She eeps, quiet, and definitely cute, and he chuckles at her response.

"_Old man,_" She teases, a hand coming back up, and a finger poking his nose.

He can smell the blood under her nails, though it has already dried.

"Well, I suppose, since I am _soooo oooold,_" A pause for the dramatics, "That it is time for the child to go to bed."

She gasps in horror... but rather sleepily.

He laughs, gathering as much of that perfect body as he can into his arms, showering the form in kisses.

She laughs when he is done, the music is short and nearly silent, and her eyes are shut, and she herself feels that she is in bliss.

He feels his job is done.

"Good night, my queen."

She is already asleep.

He murmurs his love.

For once.


End file.
